


Their Numbers

by R_Nuudles1



Category: Person of Interest (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF John, Carter is Best Girl, Fights, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, It's Hard and Nobody Understands, John is a Bit Not Good, Lots of plot, M/M, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Season/Series 02, Sherlock is a Brat, not canonically in line
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 02:29:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20463539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Nuudles1/pseuds/R_Nuudles1
Summary: Harold, Bear, And John get a set of three numbers, but they're... foreign. These three men are British. ANd with one of them being a soldier from overseas just as John Reese had been, one of them being the Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard, and the last a literal computer, the three sense their new, native tails immediately and think they're part of whatever it is that Sherlock's trying to stop, sent by his brother, of course. Things get a bit messy and their case lasts longer than expected, but that doesn't stop the machine from spitting out yet another interesting number in the meantime.





	Their Numbers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NobodyOfRelevancy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyOfRelevancy/gifts).

> It's not really a git to just her, but I told her I'd write it and she was interested in maybe reading it, so HERE YOU GO!!!
> 
> Probably doesn't recall me mentioning it... BlaZe iT

John tossed the tennis ball in the air, finding it only mildly amusing that Bear was already drooling, his eyes trained on the toy. John threw it over his shoulder and rubbed his hands together as he stood. John walked up behind the man at the public phone mounted to the cement ground. John leaned in to possibly hear something, but Harold hung up suddenly and turned, bumping shoulders with John, who stepped back defensively. 

"Let's get back," Harold said, looking to the ground, "this is strange and I can't use my mind in the cold." Harold turned and began walking away. John glanced back with a whistle. Bear came running over, basically colliding with his caretakers as they made their way to the library, their mutual... place.

That was the only way to describe it. They had separate places to live, but since Bear wasn't allowed in John's apartment, he'd been spending absurd amounts of time in the library if only to coddle his companions, or one of them, at least.

When they got back, John took Harold's coat and hung it as the shorter man had taken off his glasses as he opened a filing cabinet, sending Bear to sit obediently at Harold's side, making John let a chuckle out of his throat. Once Harold's glasses had readjusted to the temperatures of the room compared to the outdoor park a block away, he set them back to his face, so he could effectively 'dig' for the dog treats, coming out with nothing. 

Harold gasped and cooed at Bear, "Where'd they go?" It took Bear a moment of whining to look at John, who shrugged before he barked, his tail wagging. "I don't know, Bear; Where'd they go, boy?" Harold cooed once more. Bear spun in a circle, the underneath of his body staying close to the floor, making it look like a scuttle more than a trick for treats, whining as he was losing his patience slowly. Bear barked once more and Harold nodded, slowly shaking his finger. "Alright, I'll look again, but I doubt it..." Harold turned and looked in, reaching his arms into the rolling drawer of the cabinet, this time, picking a little tub from the multiple case files, which litter the space. Harold shook the small container, making the dog go almost mad with anticipation. John sternly told him to sit and wait. Bear sat and Harold gave him the treat for it. Bear whined, but it was more like he was giving his thanks to his caretakers as he ate it right there. Harold put the treats away and limped over to the clear board, which bore a large crack in it. 

"What's wrong?" John asked, still sitting with his legs crossed. Harold sighed, making John sit forward.

"The code for these numbers, they don't make sense," he sighed again, picking up the black expo marker. Marking up the board, Harold didn't stop or slow down as he heard John stand. "The only explanation for this would be to assume that: One, there are three numbers in lieu of our usual one; Two, these numbers aren't all numbers, so they must be foreign, somehow," Harold said, capping the marker. There were, as Harold had said, three separated keys to three different lives, they assumed. 

"Foreign?" John hummed, "Then, why would they show up in the machine that monitors America's threat levels?" He asked, causing Harold to sigh again. 

"It could be three separate people who have working visas?" Harold quickly limped to the bundle of computers as John stayed in front of the board, staring at the number that, as promised, wasn't all numbers. 

\--

"JY221347C," Sherlock recited as he huffed a breath of frustration, "That's funny, I always wondered where you go for your NI cards; turns out, it's usually a sentimental place, so where you were born," 

"Sherlock," John quietly warned from the next room over as the shower stopped spraying water and he stepped out, grabbing around for the towel.

"I wonder, can you speak French, then?" Sherlock asked, suppressing a laugh, and John groaned, knowing the intent he had with that possible knowledge.

"How'd you even know my NI number?" John asked, wrapping his towel around the back of his neck as he picked up his outfit from the basin. "Where's my pants!?"

"John, we're flatmates, best friends, and everything in between; what makes you think I don't know your NI number?" Sherlock gave a wry laugh, kind of like a scoff. There was the sound of a case shutting and being set to the wood floors, then rolling, slowing to a stop in front of the bathroom door, cracking it open an inch or two. "You should be careful where you put your pants, Dr Watson; wouldn't want you leaving the country without them,"

John could hear the smirk in Sherlock's voice as he snatched his pair of red and white pants from the man's hand, which he squeezed in through the crack of the door. "Although, I'd love to see the flustered look on your face as you buy a pack of the five-pound brand from a store," Sherlock's low voice purred, sending shivers up John's spine.

"I hate you," John grumbled, though his mouth couldn't help but quirk up at the edge of it. Sherlock opened the door a bit more after John had shaken his hips into the pants, pulling them up still in the back as Sherlock leaned in to plant a quick, sweet kiss to John's lips, John's eyebrows lifting almost immediately as Sherlock forgot to lean back, instead tilting his head to gain leverage into the blonde's mouth, which was easily granted by the doctor.

A sudden knock on the door sounded, causing John to instinctively give Sherlock's previously unrelenting chest a powerful shove, sending him from the small room, slamming and locking the door.

Yes, he was in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes, the brilliant detective, but no one was to know of it, for the sake of John's extremely sensitive, insecure masculinity. Sherlock gave a grunt as John's breathing grew uneven, predicting a possible, minuscule anxiety attack in the nearest future.

Greg Lestrade came into the flat, his voice was heard by John as it can be assumed that he'd entered through the kitchen. "Giles, you've booked the same hotel for the three of us, haven't you?" Sherlock asked as he entered the sitting room.

Sherlock threw John's case atop the coffee table and opened it, scowling at the layout of the contents inside. "Yes, but because there was a shortage of rooms, and I'm sure you don't want to be bothered as you work and think, I put John into a double-bed room with me," Greg said, making Sherlock freeze momentarily before continuing to rip things from John's case and begin sorting through the clothes, rearranging it to his liking.

Sherlock was done in no time, receiving a text from his brother following the one he ignored earlier that day. Sherlock relented with a sigh, quickly pulling his mobile from his Belstaff pocket.

'Sending a car -MH 08.45'  
'Sherlock, don't miss your flight -MH 09.12'

Sherlock scoffed and began texting as John opened the bathroom door, letting another cloud of condensation out of the room with him. The smell of John hit him almost instantly and he thought about how he wouldn't be able to sleep in the same room as him all throughout his case. God, he'd better solve it soon...!

'Don't miss your dentist, brother mine -SH 09.14'

Sherlock turned his mobile off as the three of them headed out to Mycroft's arranged car, which drove them to the airport.

\--

"Why am I at the airport, Finch?" John asked, his smooth voice going through the like of his earpiece. Wearing his usual suit, John fit in with all of the men on business trips, or even those coming home from them. 

"Spotting our three men, Mr Reese; they're flying together, booked the same hotel, called to order the same cab. They are personally connected, which is a convenient coincidence as they probably won't split up individually." Finch explained.

"How close are their rooms?" John asked, sighing. "I don't feel like running all across hotels to catch a possible perpetrator, and I know that you don't like doing my job," John smiled.

"There are only two rooms; It seems Dr Watson and DI Lestrade are closer than we thought, of course, it is a double-bed room," Finch sounded slightly surprised.

"I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt," John said, his smirk just audible for Harold to hear. "I've got eyes; who should I Bluejack first?" He asked as he saw the three of them walking from the air terminal.

"Well, since Dr Watson has an entire blog dedicated to his flatmate, Mr Holmes would be preferable," Harold gave quickly. John started walking, pulling his phone out to seem distracted as he and Sherlock bumped shoulders, causing the dark-haired man to stumble some. The other two stopped, Dr Watson sighing, rolling his eyes as if expecting what will come next. 

"Sorry, sir," John said, his silky voice laced with feigned empathy for the man, who only looked him up and down.

"Mr Reese," Harold worriedly gave as a brief warning.

"Oh, no. It's fine considering what you're still dealing with, mate," Sherlock played at the same game, making his flatmate look at him, stern with his own warning, but it wasn't worry in his eyes but that of frustration and a lot of it, "how long ago was it? 2003? Pity," Sherlock smirked.

"Sherlock," the army doctor groaned lowly, placing his hand to his face with an exasperated sigh.

"Mr Holmes is very intelligent; every moment you linger is another moment he can articulate your entire life-" Harold tried, but John let himself chuckle cooly,

"Have a good day, sir," John smiled and the trio looked on with amazed admiration as he disappeared into the crowd. As he did, John heard the famous detective murmur about wanting a German Sheppard, then changed his mind to an Irish Setter. John kept his head low as he continued through the mass of people, scowling a bit.

"Somebody's already jacked him, but I've got the doctor's phone," John said, looking down at his own phone's screen, the confirmation of him forcing it to pair was right there, "Which means, not five minutes into the country and he's already being tailed," he said, lingering in the mix of people to look at the three men had exited the terminal, "he must be in some kind of trouble,"

"Nothing on Dr Watson's blog suggests that anyone knew of their trip," Harold said. He was skimming through the few cases that the doctor had posted on his blog site. Some of them included a link to another webpage where it showcased the DI's cases being solved, but "It seems as though Dr Watson posts these cases about Mr Holmes doing the brain work only but five days after DI of Scotland Yard had claimed credit for them." 

"The DI is a fraud?" John asked, his eyebrows raised slightly taken aback.

"It looks fairly consensual on all parties," Harold said with a shrug in his voice. "'Seems as though Mr Holmes, who doesn't really like the spotlight of London, mainly works with homicides; I'd check with Detective Carter and Fusco to see if they can keep an eye on them if I were you." He suggested. John gave a brief hum and turned his head, giving his earpiece a tap with his finger as he stealthily dialled for Detective Carter.

"Carter," she sighed. Her office was busy. Some of the younger, lady police officers were beaming with delight as they heard they'd be getting a tall, handsome set of British men to work with for the week and a half,

"Detective," John's smooth voice had made Carter shake her head, tightening her lips.

"I sure hope you haven't shot anyone this early in the morning, John," She said with a sigh, giving Fusco's desk, which was empty as the detective hadn't shown up to work yet today, a knowing look as she dropped a heavy file onto her own desk, "why are you calling me?" 

"Famous detective's in town," she heard and nodded with a smile. She knew what was going on by now,

"So, you want me to keep an extra close eye on our Londoner while you two work behind the curtains, is that it?" She asked lowly, her eyes scouring the floor of the police precinct she worked in.

"No," John gave, "Send Fusco in. You stay completely out of it, Carter,"

"Why? What's up?"

\--

"He's a complete idiot; I'd get absolutely nowhere with him, dammit!!" Sherlock shouted before aggressively hanging up the phone and handing it back to Lestrade, who once again, had separated John and him. Sherlock's leg was bouncing extremely fast as he sat, frustrated as the car drove to the hotel instead of to the bloody police precinct, where he wanted to go in the first place!

"Sherlock, you haven't even met him..!" Lestrade whined. Sherlock mocked the DI's words in the reflection of the cab's back window, 

"I don't need to meet him to now that he's way too incapable of taking care of himself to even come up with a clever case like this." The consulting detective stated, folding his arms as if he were a child, pouting out to the streets of New York.

"Still, I think it may be worth checking out," Greg said, earning a groan from Sherlock as he began running his fingers along with the fabric of his trousers and making a low wheezing sound from his Sinasus, closing his eyes for a bit. Greg looked over at John, who lifted a hand to vaguely gesture to the man across the back seat of the cab,

"He's stimming," he said. "Give him a bit..." As the car went on through the busy roads, the doctor was still totally unaware of the bug in his phone, sending their conversations elsewhere to be examined by a man behind a computer screen.

After they'd checked into the hotel and put everything down for a moment in their respective rooms, Sherlock demanded John accompany him to the precinct. 

"What about me?" Greg asked. 

"Maybe you should be checking out your suspect, DI," Sherlock gave with venom on his sharp tongue. 

"I'd need John to help with my cover, though..." Lestrade whined with a frown, pointing to the blonde man.

\--

"Uh-oh, Finch," John said, "They're fighting over the doctor," He was looking in through a nearby rooftop, listening in on the conversation. 

"Yes, I'm listening in, too," Finch replied from where he was petting Bear in the library.

"Somehow, I feel bad for the fraud," John's voice, smooth as ever, rolled through the line as he continued to take pictures of the three men in the room.

\--

"Fine, I'll go with Sherlock first whilst you figure out the plan, then I'll go with you and investigate the suspect undercover, okay?" John finally gave in, giving a compromise to both of them, but Sherlock had to sneer, 

"Ha! I got him first...!" This elicited a groan from Lestrade as he then smirked and pulled out his mobile, texting the detective as they filtered from the room. John heard a light gasp, and the next thing he knew he was holding Sherlock back from attacking the DI, who had been smiling. Of course, Sherlock's attack attempt had just been a bluff, but it was still a serious offense, even if they weren't in England anymore. 

"Sherlock!" John scolded as soon as the pair stepped outside, "What the bloody hell were you thinking, trying to go at him like that?!" John asked loudly. Sherlock looked away. John couldn't know. He couldn't know that Lestrade knew. If he'd found out that Graham had known all along, he'd accuse Sherlock go talking behind his back and then the relationship was as good as done...! And, Sherlock didn't know what he'd do without John in his life. The doctor would probably find it awkward to live with his ex and move out, and they wouldn't talk and kiss and hold hands and he'd never be able to see John's smile again, never get to breathe in the smell of him after a long case where he'd taken the man for granted, as he did all cases...!

Suddenly, Sherlock's hand, as if on its own accord, had moved to grab John's holding it as they stood outside the hotel, waiting for the cab they'd called just before the argument had happened. "I'm sorry," 

"Yeah, well... I was an officer once, too, so..." John huffed a frustrated sigh out as he ran his free hand through his hair, his head turning to hide his flushed expression

"You've got a bug, you know?" Sherlock said without looking at the blonde man, letting go of his hand as the cab had pulled up to the side of the road. 

\--

"Oh, my God," Finch breathed in a kind of mortified shock. 

"I didn't make it that obvious, did I?" John asked as he lowered his camera from where he was set up across the street some. Through his earpiece, the doctor grunted as he twisted around,

"Huh, where?" came the muffled, distant response. Even more so in the space between them, Sherlock had responded with, 

"Nevermind," a slight smile could be seen even from where he was, even across the street. The two of them had gotten into the cab.

"Mr Reese, come back immediately; we may have an issue," Finch's voice sounded worried. John took one last picture before switching his phone over to call Lionel.

"Yeah?" The man answered, 

"I need you, Lionel," John said.

"Oh, what a wonderful feeling, to be needed," Lionel chuckled as he worked his phone into his other hand, "What'd you need, wonder-boy?" He asked, still playing the sarcasm game, though since the first time they've met and the first time John had threatened Lionel with murder charges, the relationship had become less edgy, John assumed by the jokes and the teenager-Esque way he'd address John.

"Keep tabs on Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson," John instructed. "I'm heading back for Finch really quick; I've assigned Carter to the DI," he gave then lifted his eyebrows, "Oh and Lionel? Don't let me down,"

"Hold on, why can't Carter handle the infamous two?" Lionel questioned, clearly not wanting to have to do that much work for himself,

"Because you're an idiot,"


End file.
